Age is the natural enemy of rock’n’roll. Pete Townshend declared he’d rather die than get old; the Cosmic Psychos promised they’d never get old. All too often, however, rock’n’roll’s institutionalised resistance to the ageing process has confused chronological progression with cognitive devolution: it’s possible to age while not falling into the trap of beige middle-age fatigue. And while it might contradict the dominant rock’n’roll discourse, there’s more to artistic vibrancy than consuming vast quantities of alcohol and narcotics.
It’s been the best part of 25 years since Spiderbait migrated from the New South Wales regional town of Finley to the relative big smoke of Melbourne. There have been the commercial ups and downs, the rocky personal journeys, the artistic meanderings, the hiatus and sporadic re-appearance.
And now there’s a new Spiderbait album. It’s eponymously titled, as if to symbolise Spiderbait’s return as a going concern. And it’s very, very good. Kram’s breakneck drumming kicks the album into action on Straight Through the Sun. It’s a throwback to Spiderbait’s heavy metallic origins: fast, furious and laced with the attitude of yore. Damien Witty’s riff is brutal to the point of oppression; Kram’s vocals verge on psychotic, the protestations of a man spurned for omissions of the flesh and body.
Then, the counter point: Janet English’s lilting tones bring us It’s Beautiful, and everything is, well, absolutely fucking beautiful in a way the average suburban evangelical church hopes and pretends will one day exist. The pendulum swings back From the Boat for some Sabbath with funk, Tommy Iommi meets Bootsy Collins in South Central, Ozzy and Sly on a two-week coke bender, before English’s lush vocals provide an acoustic entree for the Solid Gold rock-and-dance action of Supersonic.
And what do you say about Where’s the Baseline, other than to note its celebratory Let There Be Rock riff, stadium rock guitar solo and discursive glorification of the rugged simplicity of the rock’n’roll formula? Roll over to I’m Not Your Slave, and it’s T-Rex when Marc Bolan was the biggest thing on the global rock stage, satin green flares and all. You can get your fix of slick slacker comic electro-funk – if you need that sort of thing – on Get Bent, and What You Get does for speed rock what Henry Ford did for industrial efficiency.
Freakazoid is indulgence in its ideal 1975 guise: 90 seconds later, and it’s gone, a bookend to the first side of an already brilliant album. Glam rock meets garage pop meets reflective whimsy on Crazy Pants (Rock Star for a Night) and winds up dancing on the table at 4am with mad abandon; Mars is the morning after, an unexpected folky reminisce on the good, bad and ugly of community.
But it’s not over yet: Reach for the Sky slaps you back into attention with a speed metal riff that grabs you around the throat and demands instant gratification. Kram is back in your face, the proverbial soap-box preacher filling your mind with apocryphal images that’ll take you to a better place if you’re only prepared to believe. And then the classic Spiderbait bubblegum pop song: The Sun Will Come Shining is the ultimate lost LA pop track, replete with Go-Gos melody and Partridge Family sensibility.
Fittingly, the album ends with Goodbye: slightly psychedelic, a bit of raga, a smidgin of The Doors’ The End, some campfire harmonies and more love than a Moonie wedding. “I’m sure we’ll meet again,” promises the final vocal refrain. Yes, I sincerely hope we do. Spiderbait is as fresh, young and hip as the band that made it.
BY PATRICK EMERY
Best Track: Take your pick – they’re all superb, for different reasons.
If You Like These, You’ll Like This: AC/DC, T-Rex and Buffalo.
In A Word: Perfect.
